


All That's Known

by flibbertygigget



Series: The Other 51 [14]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Burr's extremely fucked up life, Childhood Physical Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dubious Consent, Homophobic Language, Incest, Multi, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, sex as self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:11:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Madison and Jefferson are merciless."</p><p>Burr has his suspicions about the room where it happened. After all, he knows Madison and Jefferson's kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That's Known

**Author's Note:**

> Just have to reiterate that this does include rape, childhood sexual abuse and incest, sexual assault, dub-con, and very unhealthy coping mechanisms and sexual attitudes. Basically, if any of that makes you uncomfortable, I'd suggest that you not read this.

"Madison and Jefferson are merciless."

Burr had tried to warn Hamilton, had tried to articulate just what exactly the sickness in his stomach and weight on his neck whenever Jefferson and Madison were around meant. He knew them, or at least he knew their kind, the kind who took and took and took without guilt or understanding of the consequences, and he had wanted to spare Hamilton.

But Hamilton hadn't listened, he'd gone on, and now Burr could see that there had been some terrible damage done. He didn't  _know_ what had happened, not really, but... he had his suspicions, and now he had to understand. He needed to know what had been done in the room where... the room where  _it_ happened.

* * *

"Above all, my boy, you must guard against lust."

Aaron glanced over at his sister. Their uncle, in the middle of his usual supper-time sermon, had been circling around the table like a vulture, but now he had stopped behind Sally. His hands pressed on her shoulders, fingers slipping just underneath the fabric of her dress onto her skin. Aaron looked down and stabbed his ham.

He stayed awake that night. He had convinced Sally to let them switch beds in the room they shared, saying that it would be fun. If she understood what he was doing, she didn't mention it.

It wasn't as though Aaron was curious. He was only seven, after all, far too young to understand the implications of the nights when, half-asleep, he would see his uncle with his hands under his sister's covers. But he was old enough to understand that it never happened to him or to his cousins, and his uncle was usually careful not to show favoritism or dislike. They were all treated the same, with disinterest, unless they did extremely well in schoolwork. Then they would be congratulated and paraded about for a day or two before going back to the routine of trying and failing to get into his uncle's good graces. The fact that Sally was being treated differently made Aaron both anxious and slightly jealous.

Aaron slept naked, as they all did, so when his uncle came in he only had to slip his hands beneath the blanket to reach Aaron's body. At first his uncle didn't seem to notice the difference, running his broad hands over Aaron's sides, thumb circling and rubbing Aaron's nipple. It was nice to be touched like this, a novelty compared to the beatings he was used to, and Aaron leaned into the hands almost without realizing it. But then his uncle's hands travelled lower, to Aaron's hips,  _below_ Aaron's hips, and-

"God damn you!" His uncle's shout woke Sally, who jumped from her bed and fled the room, blanket clutched around her. Aaron's uncle backhanded him across the face, sending his ears ringing. Aaron was frozen, too shocked from the sudden reversal to run. "God will damn you to Hell, you little sodomist!" Another slap, and Aaron was gone, running though he knew not where, trying to find someone to make his uncle stop hurting, stop shouting words he didn't understand.

The next morning, all seemed forgotten, but Aaron never saw his uncle at night again.

* * *

It was rare that Burr and Hamilton worked together on cases anymore now that Hamilton was Secretary of Treasury, but this was different. It was a case of a Revolutionary War widow wanting the pension due to her husband, but Congress wouldn't hear her case, and in the meantime she and her three children were left destitute.

Hamilton was more quiet than usual, seemingly completely absorbed by his work. Hamilton was never silent; Hamilton had always felt the need to carry on a conversation as he worked or wrote, whether those nearby wanted to hear or not. The familiar sickness in Burr's stomach was back as he realized that he had not heard Hamilton say more than necessary since the night when Hamilton had made the deal that led to his debt plan passing.

"Hamilton?" Hamilton grunted, shrinking in on himself slightly. The sight was alarming. Hamilton always seemed to fill the room with his energy, his self, but now he was hiding that open bombast, taking no more room than he had to. "You seem tired."

"Yes, well, some of us have careers." Burr ignored the barb.

"Still, you should get more sleep. Why don't you go home and let me finish up here?" Hamilton shook his head quickly. "Come on, I don't want your wife out for my blood if you stay here until morning again." Hamilton flinched. "Hamilton?"

"Have you ever," Hamilton said slowly, after a long pause, "felt as though you were not yourself?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific," Burr said. Hamilton stared blankly at his inkwell, and then he angrily began to gather his things.

"You're right," he said. "I should be going." Burr hated not being able to wheedle more out of his friend, but at least Hamilton would try to sleep. That would have to be enough for now.

* * *

Aaron had gotten into Princeton at 13, the youngest there by three years. At first he had worried that he wouldn't be accepted by his classmates because of his age, because his intelligence propelled him to the top of his class easily in spite of it. His first two months there were even lonelier than his uncle's house, where he at least had his sister to confide in. Then he met William Paterson.

William Paterson was almost 25, far older and more experienced in the world than Aaron. Better yet, he seemed to honestly enjoy Aaron's company, calling him "Little Burr" and teasing him for his feminine handwriting. It wasn't until half a year after they had met that Paterson kissed him.

Aaron hadn't understood what was happening at first. Paterson's hands were rough at his arm and the back of his neck, and his lips were hard enough to bruise. But then Paterson laughed and ran a finger over Burr's bruised, swollen lips, saying that it was good he could play the woman in action as well as in writing, calling him soft and small and-

Aaron never spoke of what happened between them. Had he ever tried to explain, he would have simply said that Paterson had touched him, and he let him. There was no way that he could describe it in any way that could do it justice. Paterson had been so much better at it than him, so sure of where to touch and stroke that Aaron couldn't help but follow along.

Once, when Aaron was 14, Paterson had told him to lie on his stomach. Aaron had obeyed, and then Paterson straddled him. He was heavy, too heavy, and Aaron couldn't breath. Aaron tried to tell Paterson to get off of him, but then his cock had pierced Aaron, running though him like a lance. It had burned, it had hurt, and Aaron had cried and begged Paterson to stop. Paterson didn't stop.

After that, Aaron had still let Paterson do what he wanted, but any desire to do so was gone.

* * *

Eliza Hamilton sat across from Burr, raising an eyebrow at the dirty table and shabby surroundings of the alehouse. She waved away the worker who asked what she wanted to drink, and Aaron took a sip of his whiskey.

"Thank you for coming, Mrs. Hamilton," Burr said.

"Eliza, please," she said. "I have to say, I was surprised to see your letter. Most would consider writing to a married woman to be..." Burr laughed, and Eliza joined him. "But, really, why did you ask to see me?" Burr fiddled with his wedding ring.

"Eliza, has your husband been acting... strange lately?" Eliza's smile disappeared, her eyes narrowing.

"Yes," she said. "Why do you ask?" Burr licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry.

"I have always considered your husband to be a friend. I'm simply- I would appreciate if you could give me anything that would indicate why he's-" Eliza held up a hand, and Burr fell silent.

"I understand. You're worried about him," she said. "I am as well. I don't know what happened or why Alexander is so changed, but..." She hesitated. "Can you promise that nothing I say to you today leaves this room?"

"Of course," Burr said. Eliza nodded, satisfied.

"I don't- I don't trust the Jeffersonians. I knew that their opposition put much pressure on him, but he was always the same man. Then he had dinner with them." Burr nodded, but his worst fears were not yet confirmed.

"How has he been changed?" Burr asked. "I've noticed that he's been quiet, but is there anything else, anything that only a wife would know?" Eliza's shocked scared look was all the answer Burr needed.

"How did you know?" she said, grasping Burr's wrist. "He hasn't so much as touched me since that meeting, not even in bed. I don't understand what could have happened. How did you know? What's happened to him?" Burr gently pulled away from her, standing and pulling on his coat.

"I know what happened that night," he said. "I had my suspicions, and you have confirmed than to me."

"What has happened to my husband?" Burr shook his head.

"It isn't- It isn't for a lady's ears," he said. "It's quite unpleasant. Don't worry, I will fix this, I promise." Eliza tried to grab his arm, but Burr shook her off and left. He had much work to do.

* * *

17-year-old Aaron saw her at a ball. She was dancing with her husband, dress glittering and feet darting, a look of intense happiness on her face. Aaron watched her from his corner, a longing in his chest that he had never felt before. He had never been the one to want.

He followed her the entire ball, keeping track of her darting feet and laughing eyes. Afterwards, when he was about to leave, chest still heavy with wanting, she approached him. He was a mess as soon as he saw her coming closer.

"Madame- Mrs.-" he stuttered, realizing that he didn't even know her name.

"Nora," she said. "We're all good friends here." He nodded. "So, what are you doing here?" she said, moving closer, crowding him against the wall.

"I-I was invited by a friend," Aaron said.

"Of course you were." Then Nora leaned forward, kissing him against the wall, arms on either side caging him in. Aaron tried to pull away, and after a few seconds he succeeded.

"No, I don't think-" Her body pressed against his.

"What? Are you worried about my husband? Torvald is an idiot, he couldn't catch us if he was right here," she said. "Besides," she pressed a hand over the growing bulge in his trousers, "isn't this what you want?"

"I- yes, but-" She kissed him again, cutting off his protest, and Aaron let her. He melted into her kiss, submitting as he always had, acquiescing to her teeth tearing at his lips and her hands reaching into his trousers and  grabbing and stroking.

By the time she was done with him, his pants were a sticky mess, and Aaron was left shaken and strangely unsatisfied. He stuttered his thanks, face hot with humiliation, and she kissed him once more.

"If you ever want me again," she said, "you can find me here. I'm always waiting." Aaron nodded. He never went back to that house.

* * *

Hamilton wouldn't knowingly accept his help. Burr knew that before he began, knew that fixing what had been broken would have to be done secretly. He also knew, from the dangerous looks and subtle movements, that Jefferson, at least, was planning to continue his... relations with Hamilton. Burr's first order of business would have to be to neutralize that threat.

Hamilton would not stand being used. He would either fight or crumble, and his reaction to the deal had made it clear what had happened in this instance. It seemed that his debt plan had been more important to him than his own happiness. But Burr... Burr knew that he and Hamilton were similar, at least superficially. They had the same short stature, the same slight figure. The only difference that Jefferson would see as a disadvantage would be Burr's hair, and that could be easily fixed. Burr had been used before. This time would be easier than most.

Becoming a member of Senate as a Democratic-Republican was a regrettable but necessary first step. As Hamilton railed against him, Burr stared at Eliza, praying for her to understand. Hamilton stormed away, but Eliza stayed.

"You promised to fix it," she said. Burr would have expected her to be accusing, but she just sounded sad.

"I can't help the damage that's already been done," Burr said. "But you have to understand, I can guard him now. I can prevent him from being hurt again by-"

"I never asked you for this!" Eliza yelled. Burr flinched. "Good God, Senator, you can't take a bullet for my husband like this! What about you? What about your  _wife_?" Burr was surprised at how perceptive Eliza was.

"Theodosia is ill. I'll not be disturbing her with this. As for me..." Burr looked down, willing his hands not to shake and give him away. "It will be no difficulty for me. Surely you have heard how Hamilton has lambasted me, what he accuses me of. I don't suppose that Jefferson will be much different." 

"Find a different way. Surely there must be another way." Burr shook his head.

"Eliza, my mind is made up. You are enough to help him recover from this, I can only hope that I can be enough to ensure that it doesn't happen again."

"Senator Burr..." Eliza trailed off helplessly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Then she gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. "Be careful. I don't want you hurt like my husband has been hurt." Burr couldn't bear to tell her that she was decades too late.

* * *

"Oh, don't be such a Puritan." His friend's words echoed through Aaron's mind as he scoped out the scene. It was another dance, much the same as any other. His goal was to prove that he wasn't a prude, that he could womanize with the best of his Elizabethtown friends.

Aaron found a comfortably pretty girl. He had sex with her. He didn't feel a thing.

It was easier, it seemed, when he didn't want. Then it was a simple matter of stimulation and release, use and discard. Every so often Aaron wondered whether this was how his friends felt when indulging themselves, or whether there was some element of attraction there for them.

Eventually Aaron had sex with a man, the first since he had left Princeton and Paterson. It was fine. It was very different, being the one on top. His partner had moaned and clutched and told Aaron how much he enjoyed it afterwards, how good at sex Aaron was. Aaron didn't tell him that he had learned it all before he was 15, that he couldn't care less what the other man felt, that he had already forgotten his name. Aaron didn't tell him that he was too numb to feel any of it.

Many people tried to become an affair, but Aaron was careful. He didn't want them to be anything but hole for him to come in. If he became attached, he knew that he wouldn't be able to keep the sex in a separate little box in the back of his mind, safely tucked away where it couldn't hurt him. He would have to feel it again, every horrible moment.

And then there were Hamilton and Theodosia.

* * *

It was easier than Burr thought it would be to submit to Jefferson and Madison. It was just sex, even a bit boring. Jefferson always had to be in control, tugging at Burr's newly grown out hair and calling him humiliating things. Madison was almost worse, constantly nervous and gentle, as though he was acting in spite of himself. Jefferson was a combination of everything that Burr hated the most, and Madison was distressingly human.

Hamilton was recovering. Burr could see it in the glimpses he got passing by on the street, but it was a comfort nonetheless to get Eliza's short letters, full of encouragement and worry. Theodosia passed away, and Burr was almost grateful. She had never found out what he'd traded away.

Burr gave and waited and plotted, hoping for any opportunity to get out from under Jefferson's hands. Finally his time came. Jefferson was running for President, and Burr would be Vice President. But, no, that wasn't Burr's plan. Burr was running, and  _Jefferson_ would be Vice President.

* * *

Hamilton was fire. Aaron had never wanted anyone like this, like if he didn't have them he would asphyxiate, like they were reason enough for him to break every rule he had about sex. When Hamilton spoke, Aaron had to listen. When Hamilton brushed against him, Aaron froze, entire soul aflame.

When they finally had sex, in the darkness of a military tent before battle, Aaron had made it clear that that would be the first and last time. But Hamilton was wine- no, whiskey, burning on the way down, intoxicating almost without thought, and Aaron thought about Hamilton too much not to become completely drunk off him. Aaron leaving the army ended the affair, but it didn't end the infatuation.

Theodosia was water. Aaron had planned to keep their friendship and their affair separate in his mind, thinking that the slick oil of sex wouldn't mix with her cool, refreshing friendship. But, no, Theodosia was water, and she slipped through the cracks in his walls, into his heart and soul, filling him until he overflowed. She mixed the friendship and the sex until there was no difference, until Aaron couldn't be satisfied with the latter without the former.

It was a dangerous thing, he decided, when Theodosia left him parched and cracked at her passing, to love someone with heart as well as body.

* * *

Burr hadn't understood, at first, why Eliza had stopped him in the street to apologize, but he knew soon enough. When he found out what Hamilton had done, he felt nothing but empty, dull shock.

How could Hamilton somehow promote Thomas Jefferson, a man he'd despised since the beginning, a man who had hurt him beyond reason, just to keep Burr from winning? Burr had done nothing but protect him, and Hamilton threw it in his face. Aaron was seven again, beaten for switching beds with his sister, for things he didn't understand. Burr couldn't cry, couldn't be angry, not even from this. All he could be was numb and worthless.

He demanded, begged for a retraction. He thought of Eliza, of Hamilton's children, but everything was dark. He was still under Jefferson's domination, subject to his whims, and Hamilton had stolen his chance to escape. Worse, Hamilton had called him more dangerous even than Jefferson. Burr hadn't expected Hamilton to love him, they were too different for that, but he had at least wanted...

Burr had wanted too much. He should have known that he would never be enough. He had given everything, and Hamilton had taken and taken and still wasn't satisfied.

When Aaron Burr went to Weehawken that cool morning in early July, he fully intended to die.


End file.
